


Smith & McCrimmon Investigative Services, Ltd

by Rose_of_Pollux



Series: The Doctor and Jamie: Investigators [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who (Season 6B)
Genre: Gen, POV First Person, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 07:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5906461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 6B. During a lull in their missions for the Celestial Intervention Agency, the Doctor and Jamie end up in 1959 New York as private investigators to stave off ennui. But with a case involving a missing boy and an allegedly haunted Long Island house, they may have gotten more than they bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something Doesn't Feel Quite Right

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: the characters aren't mine and the story is! This is an experiment in character POVs; since I'm going for a pseudo-film noir feel here, I'm writing this in Jamie's POV. This is a Season 6B fic.

My name is McCrimmon—Jamie McCrimmon. I've been a lot of things in my life—a piper, a soldier, a wanderer… But, for the moment, I'm an investigator. Aye, I probably should explain…

It was only after I met the Doctor years ago that I became a wanderer. There was much about him I didn't know when I started traveling with him—all I knew at the time was that he was the most amazing man I had ever met, and he had a magic box called the TARDIS that could take you anywhere through time and space. I eventually found out that he was a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey—that was before we were separated by his people. But, thankfully, we found each other again; he was branded as a criminal and was forced to work for his people as a punishment, but, even then, I promised to stay with him. Because I still think he's the most amazing man I've ever met.

The two of us now work for the Celestial Intervention Agency—an agency of Time Lords. They send the Doctor to places to do their work for them, but for the moment, they didn't seem to have any missions for us. And the Doctor and I aren't fond of sitting around and doing nothing. He took me to somewhere in London in the 1880s and introduced me to some friends of his—one of them was a detective, and the other wrote about the detective's cases. That gave the Doctor an idea; he decided that he and I should open a private investigative service of our own, at least until the Agency summoned us back to Gallifrey—which, at the time, seemed as though it would take months. Not wanting to encroach on his friends' business, he decided to open our investigative service in another time and place; we ended up in 1959, in a place called New York City. And that was when we opened Smith & McCrimmon Investigative Services, Ltd.

Unfortunately, our clients didn't seem to be bringing us the thrilling, adventurous cases that the Doctor's acquaintances seemed to get—most of the time, we were chasing after unfaithful lovers to see if they were engaging in any secret rendezvous. The Doctor complained that he could find the same thing in pointless romance novels that he had in the TARDIS library; I was unable to resist the temptation to ask him _why_ he had pointless romance novels in the library. He gave me a very indignant look and insisted that they had belonged to his granddaughter.

The tedium all changed the night the lassie in black entered our office.

Neither of us had been expecting any clients that late at night; the Doctor and I had indulged in supper and drinks at a club before watching one of those musical plays in those grand theatres—the Doctor had been wanting to see _The Music Man_ for a while, and I finally agreed to go with him. I think we might have had a wee bit too much to drink; the two of us left the theatre with our arms around each other, singing "Seventy-Six Trombones," much to the amusement of passersby.

We had made it back to the office that the Doctor had rented for us and had been sobering up with some coffee when the lassie arrived.

She was dressed in black, and she even wore a black veil to hide her face. She was accompanied by a man, who was wearing a wide-brimmed hat that was also pulled down to obscure his face. The man also was holding the lassie's hand, which made the Doctor and me both realize that, this time, we would not be chasing down stray lovers. This was going to be our first interesting case.

The Doctor glanced at me with a knowing look before looking back to our clients.

"Welcome to Smith and McCrimmon Investigative Services… limited," he said. "I am Doctor John Smith, and this Mr. James McCrimmon. How may we be of service?"

"I appreciate your willingness to help, Doctor," the lassie said. "I am hoping that you can find our missing son."

She was speaking in a hushed tone; I wasn't sure whether it was because of her misery or her further attempts to conceal her identity (or, perhaps, both), but there was one thing that stood out—her accent. Just the sound of her accent was like honey to my ears; I would recognize a fellow Scot anywhere.

"Aye, I'll turn the world upside-down to aid one of my people," I declared. "What happened to the poor bairn?"

"He's not exactly a bairn," the man said; his voice was English, not Scottish. "He's thirteen."

"Rest assured, we shall do our best to find him, regardless of how old he is," the Doctor promised. "How long has he been missing?"

"Three days," the lassie said. "There hasn't been a trace of him since."

"Oh dear…" the Doctor said, and even I quickly sobered at the seriousness of the situation. "Perhaps you should start at the beginning…"

"Our son, Anthony, has made some new friends recently…" the lassie said, her voice quiet and quivering. "Over the last several weeks, they've been spending a lot of time on Long Island. He'd started coming home late and we'd been talking to him about it, but… Three nights ago, he didn't come home."

Her voice broke, and the man placed a hand on her shoulder.

"We've… had a child taken from us before," he said. "The thought of it happening again is…"

"…Too much for any parent to bear," the Doctor finished.

There was something in the Doctor's voice that told me he knew exactly how this couple felt. There was still much about him I didn't know, but this certainly wasn't the time to start questioning him.

An awkward silence now filled the room, and I chose the moment to speak up.

"You've spoken to the lads who were with him?" I asked.

"The police have," the man said. "They have nothing to say; they claim that he left their group, and they never saw him again."

"I don't believe that," the lassie said, darkly. "Not for a moment. They know something, but they're too afraid of the police to admit to whatever they know. And so, the police have no leads whatsoever."

"They've been doing everything they possibly can over the last three days," the man added. "Of course, they haven't gotten anywhere."

"I see," the Doctor sighed. "Which then begs the question—why have you chosen to consult me for this?"

"Don't complain!" I muttered under my breath. "We're finally doing something other than spying on lovers…"

"It's a valid question, Jamie," the Doctor murmured back. "We haven't been here in New York all that long, and yet these two people are willing to trust us with the fate of their child."

He looked back to the couple, who exchanged glances with each other.

"You inspire my confidence," the lassie said, as she glanced back at the Doctor. For some reason, she wasn't looking at his face, but at his bow tie, which was pinned to his collar as it usually was.

There's no one who thinks more highly of the Doctor than I do, but even I have to admit that "confidence-inspiring" is not how I'd describe the Doctor's manner of dress. Still, the fact remained that this lassie and her husband had come to us for help.

"There is something I need to ask you," the Doctor said now, bringing me back to reality. "From the tone of your voice, it seems as though you disapproved of your son's newest group of friends."

"It's no secret that we do," the man replied. "We'd been trying to discipline him—give him a curfew after he started staying out late."

"He only got more and more rebellious," the lassie said, her voice strained. "We think it's a phase he's been going through."

"…Then, do you think it is at all possible that your son's absence is voluntary?" the Doctor asked.

"It has crossed our minds, yeah," the man said.

"Those friends of his are covering something up—whether for him or for their own selves," she added. "Anthony doesn't have access to much money—neither do his friends. If he has run away, he couldn't have gotten very far."

"Aye, then he's probably somewhere in the city, if he is hiding," I said.

"We're hoping so," the lassie said. "If it's anything else, then I don't know what we can do."

"You don't think he's hiding, though," the Doctor observed.

She stared for a moment before nodding.

"My intuition tells me otherwise. Even so, I have faith in you." She paused to look at the Doctor again. "I realize that we don't have much information for you; if you don't want to take the case…"

"If you'll give me a moment to converse with my associate…" the Doctor replied, gently taking me by the arm to the other side of the room. "Well, Jamie, what do you think?"

"Is there even a need to ask me?" I answered. "This is the first real case we've gotten, and besides that… It wouldn't be like you to refuse to help a child in trouble."

He smiled at me.

"Oh, Jamie, you do know me well, don't you?" He turned back to the couple. "We will take your case—and do the very best we can possibly do."

"I believe you will," the lassie replied. "Thank you, Doctor. You, too." She looked to me, and though I couldn't see her face on account of her veil, I knew she was looking at us with some amount of hope; his clothes may not inspire confidence, but the Doctor always seemed to know the right thing to say.

"I do have one more question," the Doctor added. "These… acquaintances of your son's—where might I find them?"

"They find different places to skulk around at nights—lately, they've been trespassing on some of the cemeteries in the Brooklyn Heights area," the man said.

"Across the river," the Doctor mused. "I see… Dare I ask what they do in those cemeteries?"

"Scare the daylights out of visitors—what else?" the man sighed; had he not been so worried for his son, he probably would have sounded exasperated. "They've got nothing better to do."

"Other than lure others astray, evidently," the Doctor sighed. "Very well, then; if you leave me a way to get in touch with you, we can set off on our search right away."

"We'll leave it in your capable hands," the lassie said, handing a card to the Doctor.

There was an address and some numbers printed on the card, but no name. I opened my mouth to say something, but the Doctor gave me one of his "Shush, Jamie" looks, and I decided to listen to him this time.

The couple soon left.

"We'd best be off," the Doctor said.

"Aye, but… You never asked for their names," I said. "Why?"

"When we had our advertisement for this investigative service printed in the paper, we promised that anonymity would be given to those clients who asked for it," the Doctor reminded me. "We know the boy's name—that's the important thing."

"Even so, we don't know his last name," I reminded him.

"Now, Jamie…" the Doctor said. "I am certain that those people want their son back and told us everything we needed to know in order to get the job done. I know better than anyone that there are reasons why a person does not wish to reveal his or her name."

That was opening the conversation to a whole other area; John Smith wasn't the Doctor's real name—it was a name that I had given him a while back because I hadn't known what his real name was; he had liked it so much, he kept on using it.

And I still didn't know what the Doctor's name was. Of course, I wondered—how could I not? And as the Doctor and I looked at each other again, I knew that he was waiting for me to ask.

I never had asked before; I had decided that the only way I wanted to know his name would be if he wanted to tell me on his own. And as we looked at each other, just as I knew that he was waiting for me to ask, he knew that I wouldn't.

He smiled at me again.

"Someday, Jamie," he promised. "I'll tell you. But we can talk about that some other time; we've got work to do!"

He placed the couple's calling card into one of his many pockets and headed out the door. My mind soon returned to the case, as well, as I followed close behind.


	2. It Took Place in a New York Cemetery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The expanded universe's take on Gallifreyan biology suggests that Gallifreyans, like cats and certain other animals, have tapetum lucidum in their eyes, which allows for enhanced night vision—with the side effect of reflecting light that strikes their eyes so that they seem to glow, which is why I have the Doctor's eyes as described in this chapter.

The Doctor and I had been to Brooklyn before; sometimes, our previous "cases" (if you can call them that) took us there, but it was usually due to the Doctor insisting that we go to Coney Island and feast on popcorn and candyfloss.

Seeing as though this was our first true case, the Doctor and I seemed to be treating it with our usual flair—involving some plans of action, debating, and then descending into unapologetic bickering.

It was our bizarre way of stating that we cared about each other. Don't ask me the logic behind that.

"I heard you talking to the cab driver about which cemeteries the laddies tend to be found," I said, as we walked down the streets. "Do you really intend to sit them down and question them?"

"You act as though that wouldn't work!" the Doctor exclaimed, in mock surprise. "Oh, Jamie, I always thought you had more faith in me than that! Why, even our client said that I inspire her confidence!"

"Aye, but that was before she saw you in… _that_ ," I responded, glancing at his choice of clothing.

On the way out, he had grabbed a longcoat and had worn it over his usual black suit and checkered trousers; the longcoat, like everything else he wore, was too big for him, resulting in his pinned bow tie being visible on his collar, and he even had to roll the sleeves of the coat up several times in order to free his hands. A fedora hat served as the crowning glory to this… nameless appearance.

"Well, look at you!" the Doctor countered.

He had silently indicated my own longcoat, which I was wearing over my jumper and kilt. And aye, I had one of those fedora hats, too.

"I'm only wearing this because it was your idea," I insisted, and I then launched into an imitation of his voice. "'Oh, look, Jamie—let's get matching coats and hats!'"

The Doctor stared at me.

"Where did you learn to imitate my voice like that?"

I smirked.

"Well, after hearing it endlessly for years and years and years…"

"Are you implying that I talk too much?"

I looked back at him with a mischievous smirk, and prudently decided not to answer.

"Hmph!" the Doctor scoffed at me. "Smirk all you want! You still look nothing like Sam Spade!"

"Eh?" I asked, frowning in confusion.

The Doctor's expression softened, and, once again, I could read in his eyes what he was thinking—there were times he honestly forgot that I was a piper from the 1700s. We'd been traveling together for so long that, sometimes, it felt as though I had been with him my entire life.

He placed a hand on my shoulder.

"After this is all over, you and I are watching _The Maltese Falcon_ together."

I smiled.

"I'd like that," I said. "But we've got this problem to deal with first. Are we just going to walk up to these ruffians and question them about the missing laddie?"

"Yes, exactly that," the Doctor said, rubbing his hands together.

"But how will we get them to say anything?" I asked. "They di'n say a word to the police. How can we guarantee that they'll talk to us?"

"Simple—with just a twinkle of my eyes. Like so."

I looked to him—and yelled out in fright. Just like there were times that the Doctor forgot that I was from the 1700s, there were also times that I forgot that he wasn't human. But, sometimes, I was reminded, just like that moment, when I saw the Doctor holding a torch so that the light fell across his face—and setting his alien eyes aglow.

"Don' do that!" I hissed.

"Well, it worked against you, didn't it?" the Doctor mused.

I was about to retort that seeing glowing eyes on a man who looked human was enough to scare anyone, but the Doctor suddenly covered my mouth with his hand as he focused on some sound coming from behind a barrier of tall hedges.

There were voices coming from the other side of the hedges.

"Do you know where we are, Jamie?" the Doctor whispered to me, as he uncovered my face.

"Near one of the cemeteries where those ruffians frequent?" I whispered back.

The Doctor nodded, smiling.

"Right on the other side of the hedges," he said. "And it would seem that they are present."

"Aye, so… how do we approach them and surprise them with your eyes?" I inquired of him.

"I'll leave stage one of that plan to you," the Doctor said, and before I knew what was happening, he pressed the torch into my hand and gave me a tremendous shove that sent me crashing through the hedge.

The boys, hiding amongst the grave markers, all came out of hiding as I stumbled the rest of the way through. I cast a furious look behind me, but, of course, the Doctor had made his move, and there was nothing I could do about it.

"Aye. Alright, then," I said, glaring down the boys. "I've got some questions about your missing friend—Anthony."

"You're not with the police, are you?" one of them observed, aiming a torchlight beam at me.

I winced as the light fell right onto my eyes, and I held a hand up to shield my eyes from the light.

"No, I'm a private investigator—"

I was interrupted as a couple of the boys began to chuckle.

"What's so funny?" I inquired

"You in that skirt, Pal," one of them sneered.

I gritted my teeth.

"It's. A. _Kilt_ ," I said.

"If you say so," another one said, sarcastically.

I could feel my face going red as my Highland blood began to boil.

"We're nae here to discuss fashion—" I began.

"Good, because you'd be terrible."

I strode forward and grabbed the ruffian by the collar of his shirt. The smile faded from his face, and I took that as a hopeful sign.

"What happened to Anthony?" I hissed.

"We don't know anything!" the lad squeaked.

"It's like we told the police," another said. "He went off on his own; we never saw him after that."

"Where did he go?" I asked. "He must have said; either that, or he was abandoned by you ruffians!"

"We don't know anything!" a third lad insisted. "So just hitch up your skirt and walk away!"

I was spared from trying to come up with a proper retort, a low, monstrous snarl emitted from the hedge I had crashed through.

"What was that?" one of the lads asked.

"That?" I asked, wondering what the Doctor was trying to accomplish. Suddenly, it hit me, and I suppressed a smirk. "Aye, it must be the Great Gallifreyan Beastie. There's a legend up in the Scottish Highlands… The Great Gallifreyan Beastie prowls burial grounds for those who are nae supposed to be there and claims them as his victims. I guess he must be visiting this one tonight."

"Nice little fairy tale," one of the lads sneered. "I'd say it goes right along with your skirt."

"Well, I'm nae the one making that noise," I countered, as the Doctor snarled a second time.

"You've got a pal hiding in there," the lad countered. "Is he wearing a skirt, too?"

He aimed the torchlight beam into the hedge—and screamed (in a voice a few octaves higher than normal) as the light set the Doctor's eyes aglow as they had before. The Doctor snarled angrily again, and I had to cover my mouth with my hand—feigning shock, but, in reality, suppressing my laughter.

"Aye…" I said, bravely. "I'll hold the Beastie off—but only if you tell me the truth about Anthony."

"And if we don't?" one of the lads asked.

The Doctor snarled again, pushing his way further through the hedge.

"Then I've no choice but to leave you to the mercies of the Great Gallifreyan Beastie," I insisted.

"Tonight…" the Doctor hissed, in a low, gravelly voice. "Oh, tonight, my hunt is fruitful…"

"We'll talk!" one of the lads in the back of the group exclaimed, eager to save his own skin. "We were inside that old, abandoned house by the shore—they call it the Adelo House. They said it was haunted, but we didn't believe it… Until we heard something, and it was every man for himself. Anthony never made it out! We never saw him after that, and we never went back there!"

"And now in the name of that innocent victim you so heartlessly abandoned, I shall wreak my vengeance upon you!" the Doctor hissed.

"Run—now!" I said, hoping that the grin on my face wasn't visible in the light of the torches.

I threw myself into the hedges—unconvincingly, I'm sure, but it wouldn't have mattered; the lads had already turned tail and ran for the cemetery gates.

"That was perfect," I said, grinning. "That was absolutely perfect!"

"Well, it _would_ be if you'd stop sitting on me!" the Doctor exclaimed.

"Oh, sorry…"

The Doctor tried his very best to keep an indignant look on his face as I helped him free of the hedges.

He ultimately failed at this, and I didn't fare any better; with just one look at each other, we both broke down, laughing helplessly.

"I will ne'er say a word against your eyes again," I promised.

"Can I have that in writing?"

"No."

"Oh, fair enough, I suppose; we can discuss that later. We've got more work to do now," the Doctor said. He got to his feet, pulling me up with him. "Onward, then, to the Adelo House!"

I headed in the direction of the cemetery entrance, but the Doctor whistled to get my attention.

"Jamie…" he said, indicating the hedge. "This is the quicker way out. Besides, we can't have those youngsters accidentally seeing what the Great Gallifreyan Beastie really looks like, now can we?"

I bit my lip to keep from laughing again as we departed through the hedge.


	3. Welcome to the Home by the Sea

The Doctor managed to flag a cab down to take us to the Adelo House. I couldn't help but notice, though, that our driver looked alarmed when we told him our destination; he even asked us three times if we were certain that was where we wanted to go. And, on the way there, he told us several stories about hapless people who had vanished without a trace upon entering the house.

"While we do appreciate your concern for our well-being, I'm afraid we must go," the Doctor said, with one of his wry smiles. "Isn't that right, Jamie?"

My own smile was rather fixed, and the Doctor arched an eyebrow at me. Thankfully, he didn't say anything until after our driver had dropped us off at the house.

I took a moment to stare at it as the Doctor paid the driver. It was an old, two-story house by the waterside that had fallen into disrepair after being abandoned for more than a century. The glass had been missing from all of the windows, and bats were flying in and out of the top windows. Old shutters were noisily opening and closing due to the breeze from the water—and I was certain that it was not because of the breeze that I felt a sudden chill down my spine.

The Doctor waved goodbye to the driver as he left and then stood beside me, looking over the house.

"I'd call that a _homely_ house, wouldn't you?"

"Ooh," I groaned. Aye, he was a wonderful man, but he made the worst puns you'd ever heard…

"Sorry, Jamie."

I doubted that he was, but the subject quickly changed as the Doctor now took a few steps towards the doors of the house.

"Doctor…" I said.

"Yes, Jamie?"

"What we're doing here… Isn't that breaking and entering?"

"Well… Yes. And I suppose a few counts of trespassing thrown in for good measure, as well."

"Aye, so… shouldn't we tell the police about this place, and have them search the house to find Anthony?"

"Jamie, that poor young man has probably been lost in this house for three days—with no food or water! Every minute is critical! And besides that, if we find him, well… There will surely be some leniency for us! And even if there isn't, we can always use the Stattenheim remote control to get the TARDIS to whatever jail cell we are and set up shop somewhere else—I hear Chicago has some good venues for private investigators…"

He walked back over to me and placed a hand on my shoulder.

"That's not what this is about at all, is it?" he asked.

I glanced down at my feet for a moment. Because the Doctor and I were so close and were on the same wavelength, there was very little I could keep hidden from him.

"No," I admitted. "It was all those stories that our driver was saying. All the ghosts and disappearances…"

"Do you believe them?" the Doctor inquired. He wasn't being patronizing; he was honestly curious.

"Well," I said. "There was a time when I di'n believe in ghosts. But that was also the same time when I di'n believe in men from outer space, either."

"Touché," the Doctor said, with a smile. "And you can apply everything you know about men from outer space to ghosts, as well."

"Eh?" I asked.

"Well… Some men from outer space are quite nasty, but some of them are quite nice," he said, and he gently tapped me on the nose. "So, there are only certain ghosts you have to worry about."

"Aye, but… How will we know which ones these ghosts are?"

"Ah, well… That is something we'll have to learn as we go," the Doctor said. "If you'd rather wait out here, I'd understand."

"No," I said, immediately.

"Well, good, because I really would like to have you with me," he grinned. "Now, then…"

He gently placed a hand on one of the front doors, which eased open. He took a few steps inside, and then beckoned me to follow him.

I was right behind him; we had only gone forward a few feet when the door closed behind us with a slam. The Doctor and I exchanged glances, and we both ran to the doors, trying to open them.

They didn't budge.

"Doctor, the doors locked behind us!" I exclaimed.

"I'm afraid that's quite impossible, Jamie," he said, indicating the handles of the old doors. "There are no locks on the doors."

"But, then, why can't we open them?"

"Well, they must be stuck, that's all," the Doctor said, placing a hand on his chin as he continued to look at the doors.

I lowered my shoulder and tried to tackle them open, but only succeeded in hurting my shoulder in the effort. I hissed in pain, and the Doctor immediately placed a hand on my shoulder to massage it.

"Never mind, Jamie," he said, softly. "We can always go through one of the windows if we have to."

"Can we?" I asked, aiming my torch at the windows. The glass was broken, yes—but there were bars on the windows, which I hadn't seen from outside.

Clearly, the Doctor hadn't seen them, either.

"Those were _not_ there a minute ago!" he insisted.

"How can that be? We can both see them now!" I replied.

"Alright, alright," the Doctor said, placing his other hand on my other shoulder. "Let's deal with this later; we came here to find Anthony, and I suggest we focus on that."

"Aye," I said.

The Doctor nodded and headed further into the house; both of our hands were clinging to each other's arms. Somehow, we were both able to hold onto our torches as we continued.

The wooden floors and walls creaked as we walked, and I could have sworn that I could hear soft, angry whispering.

I shuddered, and the Doctor clung to me even more tightly.

"It's quite alright, Jamie," he murmured.

"Do you… do you hear them, too?" I asked.

He nodded.

"They're angry," he explained. "Their spirits are trapped here, in this house. And I think they intend for us to join them in their captivity, if those sealed doors and windows are any indication."

"What!?" I exclaimed.

"I told you; we'll find our way out of that later," he said. "Now, then…"

He aimed the torchlight at the ground. There were several sets of footprints in the carpeting of dust on the floor.

"Look at that," the Doctor said.

"We're nae the first to be in here," I said. "But… how do we know which ones are Anthony's?"

"These ones look the most recent," the Doctor said. "I'm certain that these are his. If those boys were telling the truth, he came in here alone."

I snorted in disgust.

"Something wrong?"

"How could they just send him in here—and then abandon him when he di'n show up again?" I asked. "Dirty cowards…"

"And that's something that no one can ever accuse you of being," the Doctor said.

There was a definite hint of pride in his voice, which surprised me; I knew the Doctor was a proud man—Time Lords usually were, and the Doctor especially had an aversion for modesty. But while I was always used to the Doctor boasting about himself, it took me a moment to realize that, this time, he was proud of me.

I managed a smile as I gripped his arms.

"Onward, then?" I asked.

"Onward," he agreed.

We followed the tracks further into the house, past the old, dusty drawing room and into what was, presumably, a dining room. The both of us stopped, confused, as the footprints suddenly stopped.

"Doctor, look…!" I said, letting go of his arms and walking towards the point where the tracks ended. "They just… stop, right here. It's almost as if he…"

"…Vanished into thin air," the Doctor finished. "I wonder if… Jamie, stop! Don't go any further!"

"Eh? But we need to—"

The floorboards beneath my extended foot suddenly snapped under my weight; my foot and ankle disappeared into the empty space beneath the floor.

"Doc…Doctor…!" I stammered, not daring to move.

"Easy, Jamie, easy!" he instructed, slowly approaching me. He extended a hand towards me as he stood a few feet away. "Take my hand—but be careful. Don't make any sudden moves; just turn, slowly, and take my hand."

My heart was hammering in my chest, but I did as he instructed, turning around and grasping his hand.

"Now what…?" I gasped.

"Don't move," the Doctor instructed. "I'm going to work my way over to you, slowly, and help you out."

The floor creaked in protest as he slowly inched forward.

"Doctor, I don' think this is a good idea!" I said, worried for him.

"Well, I'm certainly not leaving you there!"

Before I could reply, I heard another series of snaps as other floorboards began to break under me. It only took a split-second for me to glance at the Doctor, and for him to read my mind as to what I was thinking.

"Jamie, don't you dare—!"

But I had already let go of his hand by that point. I _had_ to; if I was going to fall, I couldn't take him down with me!

"JAMIE!"

I was already falling, even as he yelled my name. The torch had fallen out of my hand; even though I couldn't see his face in the dark, I knew exactly how horrified his expression would have been.

His voice was the last thing I could recall before I lost all awareness.


	4. Just Waiting for the Morning Light

Just as the last thing I had been aware of had been the Doctor's voice, so was the first thing I heard when I awakened. I could feel his arm supporting my head as he softly called to me—though my revival was, no doubt, thanks in part to the bottle of smelling salts in his other hand.

I wrinkled my nose, and heard the Doctor chuckle slightly.

"I thought that would do it. Welcome back, Jamie."

I groaned, trying to open my eyes and sit up; the Doctor helped me up.

"Slowly, Jamie—slowly. Don't push yourself. You're very lucky you didn't end up with a concussion. How are you feeling?"

"Like there's a set of bagpipes wailing in my head…"

"That will pass," he assured me. "And now that I know you're going to be alright…" He gripped my shoulder. " _Why did you let go_!?"

"…It was a reflex. I di'n want you getting hurt because of me. I di'n want you to fall…" I trailed off. "Doctor, how did you get here? Did you fall, too? …Or did you jump in after me?"

He didn't answer me.

"You jumped," I accused.

"Why do you assume I jumped!?"

"Because you're a daft old fool," I said. "And also because I'm just as much a fool as you are, so I was just going by what I would've done."

"Well, at least you're honest," the Doctor mused.

Slowly, my eyes adjusted to the dim torchlight.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"In the cellar," the Doctor said. "But I'm not sure how we did it."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "I fell, and you jumped—that's all there is to it."

"Jamie?"

"Aye?"

"Look up."

The Doctor aimed the torchlight at the ceiling, and all I could see was the old wooden slats.

"I don' see anything," I said.

"Exactly."

"Eh?"

"Jamie, we fell through the floor from above, right?"

"Aye."

"Then where is the hole?"

"Well, it's right…" I trailed off again, indicating the unbroken ceiling. "Um…"

"I repeat—'exactly,'" the Doctor said.

"But how can the floor be fixed after we fell!?" I asked. "Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought…"

"No; I don't think so," the Doctor said. "I have a feeling that those whispering spirits are to blame for this."

"They fixed the hole? How?"

"That part, I haven't figured out yet," the Doctor said. "But I daresay—"

"Um, hello?" a third voice from behind us now asked.

…It shames me to admit that I did scream in fright at that point; what makes it slightly more bearable is the fact that the Doctor did, too—with the both of us throwing our arms around each other.

After we had regained our composure, we turned to see a young man standing behind us; he looked tired and disheveled, as though he hadn't eaten in days.

"Hello," the Doctor said. "Are you Anthony?"

The boy's eyes widened, and he nodded.

"We found him!" I exclaimed. "Doctor, we found him!"

Anthony blinked in surprise.

"Your parents hired us to try to find you," the Doctor explained. "And now we've got to get you back to them; where is the door out of this cellar?"

"…There isn't one," Anthony said.

"I beg your pardon?" the Doctor asked.

"I fell through here—through the floor, like you guys did," he said. "There's a set of stairs back there, but… It's a dead end. There's no door at the top; it's just a wall!"

"But that can't be!" the Doctor said. "Here…"

He searched his pockets until he found a canteen of water and his bag of jelly babies; he handed them both to Anthony.

"You look like you could use those; Jamie and I will look at that staircase."

"I'm telling you, there's nothing there!" Anthony said, through a mouthful of jelly babies.

I walked over to the staircase, holding the Doctor's torch.

"He's right," I sighed. "It's just a wooden wall. We're well and truly trapped down here."

The Doctor frowned, deep in thought.

"Something here doesn't add up," he said. "Those ghosts didn't fix the broken floor—I was conscious the entire time, and I would have heard them do it. …Anthony, can you tell me everything that happened since you arrived in here?"

"I was looking around when the other guys dared me to come in here," Anthony said, still eating. "Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at first, but, after a while, I started seeing little lights floating around…"

My breath caught in my throat, causing Anthony and the Doctor to look at me.

"Yes, Jamie?" the Doctor asked.

"It's… nothing," I said. "Just… stories… Stories my mother told me when I was a lad…"

"Will-o'-the-wisp?" the Doctor deduced, looking into my eyes.

I nodded.

He gave me an understanding look and nodded at Anthony to continue.

"When I got to the dining room," the boy said. "I fell. When I woke up, I tried to get out—but there was no door, and even the hole I had fallen through had been filled up again, just like you said happened to you. I've been down here, since then. It's strange, though… I haven't eaten or slept, but I haven't been able to think about it much. Since I fell down here, all I've been able to think about are of things that have already happened—what happened at school, being with my friends, talking to my parents… Just… ordinary things."

"Aye, that makes sense," I said. "You're missing all of that."

"But even when I don't want think about it, I do. It's like something is probing my mind and making me recall those memories, over and over and over again."

Now it was the Doctor's turn to gasp.

"So _that's_ it," he hissed. "The spirits are trapped here—they long for glimpses of the outside world. And so they've trapped us here, as well, to probe our memories because they're that desperate!"

He looked at me again; this time, his eyes were wide with concern. It took me a moment to realize why—

Remember when I mentioned how the Doctor's people had separated us for a while? Well, in order to make sure that I wouldn't go looking for him, they had locked away nearly all of my memories of him. When they allowed me to travel with him again, the Doctor was able to unlock my memories. But he had said that having undergone two major modifications to my memories in such a manner had left my mind weak to probing and other forms of memory manipulation, and vulnerable to damage from them; he had always been worried that exposure to those memory manipulation methods would result in a permanent loss of my memories that he would not be able to fix.

Forgetting him once had been unbearable; even the thought of forgetting him again made me feel physically ill. And if it were permanent… I couldn't even complete that thought.

"What do we do?" I asked, quietly.

The Doctor fretted.

"How do you feel now?" he asked. "Are you being forced to recall anything?"

"No; I'm completely focused on talking to you."

"Good, good; it hasn't started yet. How about you, Anthony?"

"Actually, this is the first time I haven't been forced to recall anything since I got here," he said.

"Oh, so that's it…" the Doctor mused. "They're not sure what to make of me."

"Well, you're able to see through some of their tricks," I said. "You said that there's no possible way they could have fixed the hole."

"That is correct. And yet, we can't see a hole," the Doctor said. His eyes widened, and he snapped his fingers. "Because they don't want us to know it's there! Don't you see? It's all an illusion!"

"So… the hole is there, but we cannae see it?" I asked.

"Exactly! Now we just need to make sure!" he exclaimed, and he got down on his knees. "Alright, Jamie—on my back."

I threw my hands up in exasperation and got onto his shoulders. I held my arms out for balance as he stood up, as well.

"Och, it's still too far!" I exclaimed, looking up. "Can ye stand on a box or something?"

"Wait," the Doctor said. "Do you have something in your pockets that you can throw to see if I'm right?"

"Aye; I have an apple core…"

"Well, what are you waiting for!?"

I rolled my eyes and tossed the apple core up as the Doctor aimed the torchlight at the ceiling again. Anthony watched along with us as the core vanished as it seemingly sailed through the ceiling.

"Aha!" the Doctor exclaimed. "I was right! The hole is still there! We can—"

He was cut off as the apple core fell back and smacked him in the face. He made a noise of disgust, and I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing.

"Don't. Say. A word."

Despite myself, I giggled, which seemed to annoy him to the point that he quickly knelt down and ordered me off of his shoulders, and I heard him mutter "hairy-legged Highlander" under his breath.

"Gabby Gallifreyan," I retorted.

"If you're quite through acting like a little child, I suggest we leave here at once!" he said, wiping his face with his handkerchief.

"Well, if you'd just stood on a big box, I probably could jumped up and reached the edge of the hole!"

"Or you'd have missed and fallen right on top of my head like the apple!" he said. "In any event, I have a better idea—if the repaired hole is an illusion, then the nonexistent door at the top of the stairs must be one, too!"

"Couldn't we have just tried the door in the first place rather than going through that whole thing with me standing on your shoulders and throwing an apple core?" I asked.

The Doctor looked at me and opened his mouth, and then closed it without saying a word.

"Come along, Anthony!" he huffed, as he headed for the stairs.

I rolled my eyes again and followed him and Anthony up the stairs. I watched as the Doctor ran his hand over the "wall" for a moment, and then he grinned.

"There we are!" he exclaimed, turning an invisible doorknob.

There was a creaking sound, as though a door had opened.

"Amazing…" Anthony breathed.

"Yes, I am, aren't I?" the Doctor grinned, prompting me to roll my eyes yet again. "Off we go, then!"

He went right through the "wall," with Anthony right behind him. I sighed to myself as I followed; it was surreal, walking through what looked like a solid wall. I didn't feel a thing, however.

But once I stepped through it, I could see that we were in the kitchen; behind us was the open doorway, with the same staircase leading down to the cellar visible.

"Aye, well, I have to admit, we got out of that one," I said. "Now how do we get past the doors in the front?"

"Jamie…" the Doctor said, quietly, all traces of his confidence gone. "I think we just found ourselves a bigger problem."

"Eh?"

I turned to see what the Doctor and Anthony were staring at—and froze in my tracks.

The kitchen was filled with floating wisps of light, and I could see more of them through the entryway of the dining room—the same lights my mother told me tales about long ago.

"We're going to have to get past them first," the Doctor said, grimly. "And I'm quite sure they have no intentions of letting us pass."


	5. As We Relive Our Lives

Out of sheer instinct, I grabbed the Doctor's arm. The wisps of light swirled and danced all around us.

And then it started—the searing pain in my head. Visions of my past were being pulled into my consciousness—my times with my parents… my brothers… the McLarens… And then the times I spent with the Doctor… with Ben and Polly… Victoria… Zoe…

My fingernails dug into the Doctor's arm unintentionally; both he and Anthony had vacant expressions on their faces, but they didn't seem to be feeling the same pain that I was. Was this because of my weakness to mind probes?

"Doc… Doctor…" I stammered.

I had to release his arm, clutching my head as the pain grew in intensity. It was the absence of my clinging that made the Doctor realize that something was very, very wrong; he forced himself to look at me—to focus on me.

"Jamie!" he cried.

I wasn't able to say a word—I could only stare blankly as all of the places I'd been and people I'd met swam before mind's eye.

"STOP!" the Doctor cried, turning to face the wisps. "He can't handle the mind probe—you'll end up damaging his memories permanently!"

He took a few steps forward.

"Let them go—let the both of them go!" he pleaded. "I'll stay here—you can probe through my memories all you like!"

"Doctor…!" I gasped. "No…!"

"I am five hundred years old," the Doctor continued, ignoring me. "That's five hundred years' worth of memories for you to view all you like—far more than what you ever could get from these two! Just let them go!"

I gasped again as my head suddenly cleared, no longer hurting. Anthony snapped out of whatever trance he was in, as well.

"Doctor, you can't!" I cried.

"You need to get Anthony back to his parents!" the Doctor retorted. "We were entrusted with rescuing him!"

The wisps were now closing in all around him. He stared at them, unflinchingly, and silently held his arms out as if to say, "What are you waiting for?"

They accepted; the wisps began to swirl and circle around him.

"Doctor!" I cried.

"They're letting you go; do you really want to chance losing your memories for good!?" he yelled back, from somewhere in the light. "GO!"

There was something in his voice that told me to listen; I didn't listen to him often—something that annoyed him greatly—but this time, I knew what he was trying to say. It wasn't just the two of us at stake here; there was Anthony to consider.

I looked at Anthony, who was looking at me expectantly, as though asking if he should leave alone.

And that was when I made the most difficult decision of my life—choosing to do what the Doctor would have done. I grabbed Anthony by the shoulder and, together, we ran out of the house. The boy looked relieved to be free from the house, but it was still difficult for me to accept that I had made the right decision.

"What happens now?" he asked me, as the two of us ran down the road.

"I'm taking you home," I said. "And then I'm going back for the Doctor."

"You'll just get trapped in the house again!" Anthony exclaimed.

"Maybe so," I said. "But at least I'll…"

I trailed off as a police car drove by, making its rounds. I yelled frantically for the policeman driving it to stop.

"What are you doing?" Anthony asked, as the car stopped and began to back up to us.

"They'll take you home," I said. "Just tell them who you are, and they'll take you back to your mother and father!"

"They'll want to talk to you…" Anthony said, as I began to run.

"Aye, but I need to be somewhere else right now!" I threw over my shoulder.

I hugged the shadows as I headed back to the Adelo House; I wasn't followed—Anthony was doing his best to keep the policeman occupied with the fact that he was the missing child that everyone had been searching for, and after making sure that I wasn't being followed, I proceeded to reenter the house again.

"Doctor!?" I called. My heart was in my throat when I received no answer, and I went back to the kitchen. " _Doctor_!?"

There were no more wisps of light visible, and the Doctor had vanished, as well. It was as though he hadn't been here at all.

"Give him back!" I pleaded, hoping that whatever was in the house could hear me. "Please!"

There was no response; I knew that the spirits in the house had found a treasure trove of memories in the Doctor, and they wouldn't even let me near him for fear that I'd succeed in finding a way to get him out.

They were hiding him from me. And that was when I remembered about the false wall and the hole.

Slowly, I exhaled and closed my eyes, concentrating. The Doctor sometimes taught me the tricks of his people—one of those tricks he had tried to teach me was thought transfer. I wasn't sure exactly how he did it; all I knew was that it allowed him to silently communicate with other Time Lords—usually, other versions of himself.

Seeing as though I was a mere human, however, we have never been able to make it work. Then again, we never really needed to; just exchanging a glance usually told us all we needed to know.

But now I needed for it to work—even if we couldn't make enough contact to actually say something, I needed to know where he was.

I tried my best to block out everything—the coldness of the house, the loneliness I was feeling… I just focused my mind entirely on the Doctor.

That was when I heard it, in my head—a steady _beat-beat-beat-beat_ , over and over again. For a moment, I didn't know what it was, but then I quickly realized—it was the beating of the Doctor's hearts.

Slowly, I headed towards where the sound seemed to be coming from; opening my eyes briefly, I could see that I was heading straight for another wall. I shut my eyes again, waiting for the moment I would walk right into it.

The moment never came; when I opened my eyes again, I could see the wisps of light sticking to a longcoat-clad form upon the floor.

"DOCTOR!" I cried.

Desperately, I tried to brush the wisps away; they were cold to the touch, and the Doctor himself was cold. His eyes were open, but he seemed to be in some sort of deep trance—no doubt the work of the spirits, who were making him recall everything he had ever been though in his life.

"Doctor!" I exclaimed. "Doctor, look at me!"

He did turn towards the sound of my voice, but he seemed not to notice I was there; he just stared right through me.

"One day," he murmured. "I shall come back. Yes, I shall come back…"

"Doctor! Wake up!" I pleaded, shaking him by his shoulders.

This achieved nothing, other than causing him to drop something he had been holding in his hand. The light of the wisps reflected off of it—and I realized that I was looking at the Stattenheim remote control. He had been planning to escape from the house as soon as Anthony and I had left, but had fallen too deeply into the trance to follow through.

I quickly grabbed the remote control and activated it; the TARDIS soon arrived, and though I'd hoped that the familiar sound would snap him out of his trance, but it didn't seem to do any good. He merely looked at me again and smiled, raising his fedora hat—

"Doktor von Wer, at your service!" he said, in an accented voice.

"Oh, Doctor…" I said, sadly shaking my head. "Maybe you'll be alright once we get you to the TARDIS…"

I helped him up, but before I could help him over to the TARDIS, I saw something beside the TARDIS, on the wall, that made me freeze in my tracks.

A face was slowing coming out of the wall; its eyes were sunken in, and when it opened its mouth, a howling shriek emitted from it.

"Oh, my word!" the Doctor exclaimed, now finally snapping out of his trance. He stared at me. "Jamie!?"

"Ne'er mind me—there's a face in the wall!" I cried, clinging to him.

"I thought I told you to leave—"

The face shrieked again, and now the Doctor clung to me.

"To the TARDIS! Quickly!" he said.

The wisps of light were now swirling around the both of us; they were angry—angry at us having gone back on the agreement.

And then, it struck me again—the searing pain in my head as my memories were once again prodded and pulled into my mind's eye.

"Jamie!" the Doctor cried. "No…!"

But he was falling back under the trance again, and I was doing the same—except that my trance also came with something that felt like a blade poking into my head. A cry of pain escaped my lips.

The Doctor clung to me again; somehow, the prospect of me losing my memories again was enough to keep him worried enough to focus on me.

"Jamie…" he gasped. "TARDIS… safe…."

The pain was too great for me to reply him; once again, I was forced to let go of him to clutch at my own head. He still clung to me with one arm, however, even as the spirits did their best to put him back under the trance.

"Slower… concentrate on one thing…" he murmured, suddenly falling flat onto his face—and taking me down with him. His other hand was extended towards the TARDIS, the key in his grasp.

I cried out in pain again, and he managed to get both of us closer towards the TARDIS; we were so close—all he had to do was get up to unlock the door.

But even though he tried, he sunk back to the ground. I now forced myself to get up, taking the key from his hand and unlocking the door before the pain in my head grew too intense, and I fell to the ground.

"Jamie…?" I heard the Doctor ask.

I cringed, still clutching at my head, shutting my eyes and just wishing that the pain would go away.

"Jamie! _Jamie_!"

I could hear the face in the wall screaming—louder and louder. I couldn't pay attention to anything else—not even the fact that the Doctor had his arms around me again. I just silently begged and pleaded for it all to stop…

…And then it did.

"Jamie? Jamie, wake up!"

I could feel myself being shaken by the shoulders, and when I opened my eyes, I saw that we were inside the TARDIS console room. The key was still clutched in my hand, and the Doctor was staring at me with a worried expression; even when surrounded be those wisps, he hadn't looked this scared—the thought of me losing my memories again was, evidently, more frightening.

"Jamie… do you know who I am?"

I shook the last of the cobwebs from my head.

"Aye," I said. "You're a daft old fool."

I don't think I'd ever seen anyone so pleased to have been called a daft old fool before. But he quickly put on a stern expression.

"Why don't you ever _listen_ to me!?" he asked. "I told you to leave—I would have used the Stattenheim to escape!"

"Och, nae the way you were," I said. "If I had nae been there, you'd have been in that trance fore'er, reliving all of your memories."

"And you might have lost yours!" he countered. "What would you have done then!?"

I blinked.

"I don' know," I said. "But the real question here is… what would _you_ have done if I had lost them?"

The Doctor looked at me.

"Started from scratch," he said.

There were times when I could never be quite sure whether or not the Doctor was telling the truth. This, however, was not one of those times; I know because I'd have done the same had that fate befallen him.

I guess we're both just a pair of sentimental fools.

**Epilogue: Picking Up the Pieces**

The TARDIS didn't wait for us to give her directions; the moment the wisps outside started trying to pass, she dematerialized. The Doctor quickly hurried to the console, and after taking a moment to look at the calling card that the couple had left us when they had asked us to take their case, brought us to a landing in a nearby alley.

We made it to the address on foot, in time to see Anthony being embraced by his mother and father. The Doctor grinned broadly, pleased, and then cleared his throat to announce our presence.

"You're okay!" Anthony's father exclaimed.

The lassie nudged him.

"He's the King of Okay, remember?" I heard her say, quietly.

The Doctor didn't seem to hear her, however, and she turned to address him directly.

"We were worried about you, though," she said. "Especially after Anthony told us what you did."

"Yes, well…" the Doctor said. "I'm quite alright, as you can see. And I can see that you three will be quite alright, too."

"Thanks to you," Anthony's father said. "I don't think we can ever repay you for what you've done."

"Oh, there's no need for that," the Doctor insisted. "Seeing this… This is reward enough."

"Of course it would be," the lassie sighed.

"And I didn't do it alone," the Doctor added, pulling me up to them. "We are Smith _and_ McCrimmon, after all!"

I gave a rather embarrassed smile; I was just relieved that the Doctor was alright, too.

"Well, then," the Doctor said. "I think Jamie and I shouldn't intrude upon this happy reunion any further. Hopefully, you won't need us again, but if you ever wish to chat, you'll know where to find us!"

"Yes…" the lassie said. "Thank you." She then looked to me, briefly, and whispered, " _Look after him_."

I blinked in surprise, but gave a quick nod to let her know that I understood as Anthony and his father also voiced their thanks aloud.

"Come along, then, Jamie," the Doctor instructed. "Back to the office!"

He headed down the street, and as I turned to follow him, I could've sworn I heard the lassie say something, very softly—

"Thank you, Raggedy Man."

I shrugged it off; the Doctor certainly did look raggedy, as she said. All in all, that was a clever name for him.

The Doctor and I were both quiet as we walked back to the TARDIS, which materialized back in our office. The Doctor hung his coat up and sat at the desk, putting his feet up on it as I poured a cup of coffee from the coffeepot.

"Coffee?" he asked me. "At this hour?"

I shrugged.

"You should get some sleep, Jamie," he said, getting up from the desk. "Not drink coffee."

"I see you're nae sleeping."

"Yes, well, I don't need it," the Doctor said, taking the coffee from me and directing me to the couch. "You're only human—you need at least eight hours."

"It's going to be a long time before I sleep again," I said, as I sat back on it. "I keep thinking about that face in the wall… and you, lying there, surrounded by the wisps."

It was the second one that had scared me the most, and the Doctor realized that as he grabbed a blanket from within the TARDIS and placed it over me.

"You gave me plenty to worry about too, you know," he said. "But the important thing is that we're both alright—and neither of us would have been able to make it out of there had we not worked together. So just think about that instead—how we've come to rely on each other."

"Aye, but…"

I trailed off as he started playing a tune on his recorder—a slow, relaxing tune that I didn't recognize.

"Doctor… what…?"

"It's a Gallifreyan lullaby," he said. "Now, shush—you're defeating its purpose!"

Despite myself, I managed a smile as I rested back on the couch, listening to him and his lullaby. It was funny—how even the most dire of situations ended up with us being closer than ever.

And as I drifted off to sleep, thanks to the Doctor's lullaby, I was already looking forward to our next adventure.

**The End**


End file.
